


We don't speak about Tuesday night

by Divine_shot



Series: 221b promp fills [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Sherlock, Bar Fight, Bromance, Gen, Humor, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Possibly Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Divine_shot/pseuds/Divine_shot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What a way to start the New Year; being banned from a bar."</p><p>"Oh come on John its only for a week or so."</p><p>In which John sort of regrets taking Sherlock out for a pint on New Year's eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We don't speak about Tuesday night

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt here: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=129281286#t129281286
> 
> Not beta'ed nor Brit-pick but I tried my best.
> 
> Happy new year folks!

Dragging Sherlock to a pub, any pub, in compliance is a rare feat.

Having said man drink and have a civil conversation with anyone, without deducing the lot of people in the same pub was a god damn miracle.

John went to the place that him and Greg would get a pint from after hard cases or casual hang outs. During Sherlock's absence they would get together and rant/complain about the berk detective and give each other half drunk condolences.

It had a good amount of people and at first glanced seemed like a regular old sports bar by the decor but the casual ambiance as well as the drinks, from fine wines to rare whiskeys, made it a place to relax for anyone in mind.

This particular evening started when Sherlock groaned about the ease from finishing the cold cases the DI gave him during a lull and as an early New Year's gift. Sherlock being Sherlock decided to quell his tedium by experimenting on John.

In the literally sense.

When John found out his tea had been spiked with an unknown substance one mid morning he had it.

"We're going out."

Sherlock peered up from his lanky position on the couch, hands steepled over his face. "We?" He drawled out, half interested.

"Yes we." John put his hands on his hips. He only had on a long sleeve plaid shirt with the arms rolled up as well as jeans; clean compared to his berk of a flatmate who still had on his sitting clothes and bathrobe.

"John-"

"No buts. Its New year's eve and we are going to the pub."

Sherlock made a face, lips upturnws but John cut him off again. "Its either this or I'm throwing out all of your experiments."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would so help me if I find another bloody eyeball in my eggs again or my meat spiked with whatever hell you created."

"I would love to see you try."

* * *

 

With little to naught convincing (as well as a bit of a row,) John along with Sherlock put on their coats and went out around seven or so to the pub.

It had been crowded as John suspected but he knew the owner, Ben, who worked around the bar table. He was a respectable brown haired gent who made sure there were no youngsters with fake ids and kept the rowing to minimum.

The blond man went up to the bar table and sat down, ordering his usual pint of Guinness. He turned towards Sherlock hovering near him in question, coat collar turned up, contemplating on what to get. He rarely seen the man drink alcohol, only wine or whiskey in a superficial sense during cases. He wondered for a brief moment could the detective tolerate mass quantities of it.

"Ummm...Sherlock?"

"Death in the Afternoon please." Sherlock sat down next to John much like a wayward child without the lip pouting and arms folding.

John's blue eyes widen and Sherlock glanced over. "Not good?"

"No...a bit not good. You know what's in that drink."

Sherlock huffed. "Fine. A Black Velvet then."

John snorted and tried not to laugh out loud at the secondary choice.

So the two sat, Sherlock with his beer cocktail and John with his own beer, talking about the cold cases over the background noise of guys watching last minute games and the low hum of casual couples engaged in conversation. They avoided the more personal matters.

It had been a peaceful night so far. John ordered up some finger food, fish and chips along with a few mini burgers and managed to coax Sherlock into eating a bit of it. Even after he finished the pint and ordered another he felt buzzed rather than drunk.

When it became closer to New year's day things took an ugly turn. A few less than savoury people came in that the owner had to throw out; too much to drink or on their way to intoxication.

One man in particular stayed and around fifteen past eleven he went up to the bar table towards John.

Sherlock watched the interaction with narrow eyes. If anything John could be classified as 'not gay,' but the detective knew better. John was, how do you put it, 'Not sure about his sexuality.' Sherlock stood in the background, watching the blond doctor go on several dates with women and contemplating who should he be with. Do things that normally males would not do with their flatmates, such as make them breakfast, worry about their health like a mother hen, or even show more than the standard amount of concern Sherlock deemed people from society would friends.

John was currently involved with a woman named Mary but the fact that he hasn't moved out yet nor cease his interaction with his flatmate made Sherlock wonder what went on in John's head; serious or not about the whole matter between the blond woman. 

His musing ceased when he overheard the conversation that the interloper had with his blogger.

"...I could make you feel so good compared to this rich posh poofer over here."

Sherlock snorted at 'poofer,' and ranked his eyes over the black haired, bloodshot gray/blue eyed man that had a faux heterosexual appearance, if you could call it that. It didn't help that he appeared to be superficially similar to himself in looks as well if he wanted to insult himself.

'A bit of product in his hair to hide the strains of loose curls pulled out due to a domestic with his boyfriend, well now ex boyfriend. Drank too much champagne then moved onto cheap cocktails to hide the evidence of pain when he couldn't afford the more expensive drinks. Dirt as well as skin particles under his nails after the domestic. Wallet is loose but ample enough so he went to maybe one other bar besides this one, which concludes a low tolerance of alcohol.'

"I feel flattered but I don't pitch that way mate. Sorry." John politely dismissed him, trying to go back to his drink.

The man didn't relent though, leaning closer to John's personal space on his right hand side, going too close to his bad shoulder, breath near the blogger's ear.

"I could convince you over a few pints? Maybe some cocktails? Better than this stuck up man here. I watched you two for a minute and I can see you barely tolerate him."

Sherlock for some reason felt irate, seething feelings pooling in the bottom of his stomach and made what he drank and the little he ate settle uncomfortable. Most people assumed that 'normal' John hanging out with the 'borderline spectrum psychopathic man' next to him was due to pity or a fluke. They never suspected that John actually enjoyed his presence or considered him 'a friend.' Or even held him in high regard no matter how much of a berk he ended up being.

Normally he would brush it off but today he couldn't and it disturbed him. When he watched them continue to talk, John waving the man's casual touch on his bad shoulder off and the man going closer and closer to his personal space he had it.

John sighed. This guy had persistence. He felt flattered yes but he didn't strike his fancy, even if he swung that way. Plus he had a girlfriend to boot so having a one night stand with a guy who remotely looked like Sherlock Holmes was a bit not good.

Considering that the real man in question sat next to him was a lot better to hang around with and nicer looking to boot.

John frowned at his odd choice of words and considered his next option towards the drunk gay man hovering near him. He thought about getting the owner to take him outside and call a cab, until a _'whoosh'_   sounds ranged out near him and the bloke fell down harder than a sack of potatoes.

John blinked at the man, now gushing blood from possibly a broken nose, then back up to his flatmate who stood, glaring and growling.

"Sherlock?" The man looked livid, teeth out in a snarl, nostrils flaring, curls seem to prick up on end, and his hands balled up into fists. His suit outfit that he wore even to a pub seemed to strain against whatever fury that held the detective.

"He was being a rude gent. Invading your space and touching your bad shoulder John." The normal baritone was much lower and set off John's warning bells.

"Sherlock." He put his hand carefully on the man's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Thanks." It took a minute but Sherlock's eyes lighten and the cloud of angry seemed to dissipate, if only barely.

John released his hand and decided to check up on the man; crouching down next to his position on the floor. Yep his nose was broken alright and Sherlock applied enough force to knock him out as well.

"Sherlock maybe we should-" John turned up his head until another crash ranged out. He peered behind him to see someone else in a domestic, a man barely being held back by another man.

"Ah the ex boyfriend." Sherlock drawled out, shaking the hand out that punched the other male.

"Ex boyfriend, what?"

"The man that was flirting with you earlier had a boyfriend. They started a row over something trivial and ex boyfriend did a faux break up, coming to this bar to get drunk and avoid him. Said other male got drunk in another bar, found the ex, then attempted to woo you to make said ex boyfriend jealous." Sherlock ducked just in time when a chair went flying towards his position.

John sat on the floor gobsmacked, inching over to the detective to make sure he was fine. "Sherlock wha-"

"I believe I started a bar fight; John do keep up."

John shook his head as the ex boyfriend who threw the chair advanced towards the two, cursing and yelling. More people either went to his aid (eager or confused on why Sherlock would just punch a bloke,) or tried to help Sherlock having a general idea on what happened from listening in.

Chairs and punches sailed everywhere and the owner decided to call the NSY eventually.

John had to admit he was impressed. Sherlock stood his own, that lanky body showing muscle and power he never thought he had. Sherlock went into a weird stance and started throwing punches everywhere, tossing people using his shoulder, even avoiding more bar chairs. John would had been impressed if it wasn't for the fact that they were involved in a bar fight that the detective caused.

'God Ben is never going to let me into this pub ever again.' John thought as he barely avoided a glass bottle before knocking said man out.

 

* * *

John laughed. He couldn't help himself despite the situation.

His sides and back hurt when someone hit him with a broken chair but above all he felt good when he managed to drag Sherlock back to 221b before the police and Lestrade showed up.

Sherlock sat in John's chair, using one of the ice packs that spared the wrath of his experimentation while John sat on the table next to him. Under it the detective now sported a black eye when the ex boyfriend managed to punch him in the eye due to Sherlock being distracted when John was grabbed from behind by another male.

It looked comical, especially with those cheekbones.

"Well at least nothing is broken nor injured besides your eye. You managed to beat down the lot of people in the pub." John snickered at the sulky look of his flatmate as he let down the ice pack. "Its pretty impressive."

"Of course John. I know several methods of combat, including boxing, fencing, and weapon usage."

John shook his head. "Never imaged a rich bloke like yourself being able to take down anyone. At least it eases my worries a bit."

Sherlock would had rolled his eyes if his eye didn't hurt so badly.

"Thank God Greg didn't see us but you know he knows."

Sherlock slumped in the chair and shrugged his shoulders, not really caring. "Takeaway?"

"Sure. Order from that new Chinese place. They said they would be open until one am today. The ones that 'owe you favours' are closed I think."

Sherlock reached out with his hand, palm open, wiggling his fingers. John rolled his eyes but picked up his iphone near his laptop, handing it to the detective. Sherlock ignored the text messages, one from his brother and the other from a certain DI. Well several others.

He raised a black eyebrow at the time. "Happy New Year John."

John only laughed again. "Way to start off the New Year..."

Even Sherlock had to laugh at that.


End file.
